Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

Nicander recognised the ancient method he’d seen in Petra for bringing life-giving water from distant snow-covered mountains to arid lands. ‘This is a qanat . You see that tunnel?’ He pointed to the low subterranean passage hewn out of rock. ‘It feeds a line of wells that goes far into the desert. I’ve a notion we’ll be going for a long wet walk.’

The boy shinned down the rope and splashed next to them. He picked up the light and led the way into the tunnel.

Bent double, they inched forward, following the wavering light and stumbling on the uneven floor.

In the gloom the sound of their splashing progress was loud and echoing.

Was the crushing weight of rock above them waiting to collapse and bury them?

Nicander had contrived to be behind Ying Mei whose mechanical movements betrayed her fear and in the darkness he ached to hold her, to comfort her. He realised that Marius, too, was affected by the confinement of the narrow, dark passage. He tried to keep up a steady conversation, complaining at the numbing cold of the water, the constant splashing forward and demanding that the sun had better be shining good and hot when they eventually came up.

Then far ahead there was a change in the Stygian blackness. As they made towards it, it resolved into a delicate splash of light from above. They drew nearer until they reached it – they were at another well and far up was a perfect disc of pure brightness.

Marius stared up, the light pitiless on his contorted features. He gave a hoarse cry and pounded on the side of the well.

The boy hurried back and urgently signalled that this was not the right one, they must continue on.

But Marius was near the end of his tether. Nicander pushed over to the legionary and swung him around. He scooped icy water and dashed it into his face. ‘We’re all still here, Marius! Let’s finish it together!’

The man’s chest heaved and Nicander could sense the struggle taking place as his friend strove to conquer his terror.

‘It’s time to march, caligatus ,’ he said gruffly. ‘Now!’

With fixed, staring eyes Marius shuffled off down the tunnel.

They splashed on and on. It wasn’t the next well but the one after that when they were motioned to stop.

The boy whistled twice. There was no response.

He whistled again, agitated. No answer drifted down to their echoing dungeon.

Nicander felt panic rising. If there was a misunderstanding and no one was there…

A sudden dark shape broke the blinding circle of light above and a shout echoed.

In a giddy wash of relief the young boy shouted back and soon a bucket on a rope was clattering down.

‘Marius, you go.’ Nicander guided him forward.

‘No!’ he replied in a hoarse, off-key voice. ‘Ladies must.’

Ying Mei was first and the bucket was winched up. Then it was Tai Yi, but Marius would not be budged, it had to be Nicander next.

The squeaking windlass swayed him up into the ever-increasing light until in a blinding flash he reached the surface. Willing hands helped him over the lip of the well and in the warmth of the morning sun he found himself looking out over a parched landscape back to the walls of the city.

He turned to the well but it was the young boy who stepped out.

Marius was the last to emerge. He fell to his knees and kissed the warm earth. ‘I’ll rot in hell before ever I get down there again!’

Mansur was waiting for them with mounts ready saddled up, along with his packhorses and mules and a goods wagon piled high. ‘We stage at Aktash. Your baggage will catch us there.’

Nicander’s heart was bursting; there were so many things that he wanted to say to Ying Mei, but she was riding ahead with Tai Yi.

He found his chance at the midday break when they stretched their legs together under the spreading willow trees along the river.

‘My dearest, dearest Callista,’ he murmured, ‘we haven’t had a chance to talk.’

‘Dear Ni K’ou – it’s hard for both of us, but you see-’

They were startled by one of Mansur’s drivers as he brushed past on his way to wash a water skin.

Nicander collected himself. ‘I’m sorry you had to leave Samarkand where you would have been able to listen for news of China.’

She gave a small smile. ‘Don’t worry about that, Ni K’ou. I’ve thought of a way. You told me that the caravans end in Constantinople. Travellers can’t get through Persia, but messages can. I’ll send a letter to Yulduz and ask him to deliver it to my uncle’s agent in Khotan. That way my uncle can get it to my father in Shaolin. You see? So when I’m in Constantinople I can tell him I’m safe and happy – and perhaps that I’m Ni K’ou tai tai ,’ she added shyly.

His eyes misted and his hand went out to hers.

‘Please don’t, Ni K’ou.’ She drew away and her face clouded. ‘We can’t be… close… It would shock Tai Yi and I would hate to hurt her. And it wouldn’t really be fair to Marius…’

‘My darling love – how can I-’

She looked at him tenderly. ‘Ni K’ou, I love you and I want nothing to spoil it. Why don’t we keep things as they were until we get to Constantinople? Then, when we’re safe, we’ll tell the world and be married.’

‘B-but it’ll be so long and…’

‘I’ll be strong and you must be too,’ she said, easing away from him as they walked.

‘For you, I’d…’ he gulped.

But a thought came: was she in fact testing him? To discover whether it was love – or lust – that his feeling for her would be the same in far distant Constantinople before she gave her heart?

They continued on in silence for a short distance.

‘We should join the others, Ah Yung.’

‘Yes, Ying Mei,’ he said sadly.

After more than a week of heading ever deeper into the dusty, empty plains they reached the great Oxus river then followed a pathway north for another week.

There, they came across two shy but curious shepherd children tending a flock of sheep. Mansur called to them familiarly and they sang out a reply.

‘Hah. The Turghiz, they ahead, wait for me.’

He jolted his horse forward. ‘That a good sign. If trouble, they not there.’

After an hour the gentle rise fell away – and below was the extraordinary sight of the sea.

It was so unexpected that Nicander felt disoriented. He went up to Mansur, ‘I thought we were…’

‘What the Turghiz they call the Aral Sea because many islands.’

Along the low-lying coastland there was a village with a few modest timber houses and numbers of yurts, substantial round tent houses, from which wisps of smoke were rising.

A wave of people came out to greet them and soon they were surrounded by laughing, chattering strangers in outlandish and colourful garb. Far from the pitiless savages they’d feared, mused Nicander.

‘We feast!’ Mansur announced.

The next morning Mansur’s wagon was made the centre of an enticing display of his trade goods and he stood back to let the villagers see his wares. But as the afternoon drew to a close, Nicander saw he seemed in no hurry to conclude his stay.

‘When do we start out again?’ he asked politely.

‘Again?’

‘Why, yes. We want to get going as soon as we can.’

‘Nothing stop you. Over there -’ he indicated vaguely away from the Aral ‘- you reach the Caspian. Around, and you meet your Black Sea.’

‘No, I meant all of us together. When do we go?’

Marius heard the talk and came up. ‘That’s right. We’re not paying you to lay about and peddle your stuff all day!’

Mansur stiffened. ‘I don’t know what you talk, foreigner! You pay me, leave Samarkand, through nomads – I do it! Tell you where to go on old silk route, I do it! Not hold your hand all way to Constantinople.’